James Thomson (1)

Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames;
Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
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Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames;
Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
In Twit'nham bowers, and for their Pope implore.

Base envy withers at another's joy,
And hates that excellence it cannot reach.

Base envy withers at another's joy,
And hates that excellence it cannot reach.

The Redbreast, sacred to the household gods,
Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky,
In joyless fields and read more

The Redbreast, sacred to the household gods,
Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky,
In joyless fields and thorny thickets leaves
His shivering mates, and pays to trusted Man
His annual visit.

Distrust any enterprise that requires new clothes.

Distrust any enterprise that requires new clothes.

In ancient times, the sacred Plough employ'd
The Kings and awful Fathers of mankind:
And some, with read more

In ancient times, the sacred Plough employ'd
The Kings and awful Fathers of mankind:
And some, with whom compared your insect-tribes
Are but the beings of a summer's day,
Have held the Scale of Empire, ruled the Storm
Of mighty War; then, with victorious hand,
Disdaining little delicacies, seized
The Plough, and, greatly independent, scorned
All the vile stores corruption can bestow.